spendthrift splendour of daffodil and crimson. A great silvery
evening star was watching over the bar. A brisk, dancing,
new-sprung wind was blowing up from Rainbow Valley, resinous with
the odours of fir and damp mosses. It crooned in the old spruces
around the graveyard and ruffled Faith's splendid curls as she
sat on Hezekiah Pollock's tombstone with her arms round Mary
Vance and Una. Carl and Jerry were sitting opposite them on
another tombstone and all were rather full of mischief after
being cooped up all day.

"The air just SHINES to-night, doesn't it? It's been washed so
clean, you see," said Faith happily.

Mary Vance eyed her gloomily. Knowing what she knew, or fancied
she knew, Mary considered that Faith was far too light-hearted.
Mary had something on her mind to say and she meant to say it
before she went home. Mrs. Elliott had sent her up to the manse
with some new-laid eggs, and had told her not to stay longer than
half an hour. The half hour was nearly up, so Mary uncurled her
cramped legs from under her and said abruptly,

"Never mind about the air. Just you listen to me. You manse
young ones have just got to behave yourselves better than you've
been doing this spring--that's all there is to it. I just come
up to-night a-purpose to tell you so. The way people are talking
about you is awful."

"What have we been doing now?" cried Faith in amazement, pulling
her arm away from Mary. Una's lips trembled and her sensitive
little soul shrank within her. Mary was always so brutally